I wore my last pair of short riding boots two years past their expiry date. The seams had split, the sole was gaping and there were tears in the leather courtesy of feet that had expanded over two pregnancies.
Despite the impracticality, the constantly damp socks and blackened tootsies from trudging through my paddocks with holey boots, somehow I resisted the obvious purchase versandapotheke cialis.
I had my reasons.
If clothes make the man, then boots embody the equestrian. It’s just a given; you need protective footwear around horses and wearing them instantly identifies you as part of the horse squad.
My boots, weathered and muddy, offered to me a sense of belonging. Although, if I were truly honest with myself, I would have preferred to be in the company of the buffed up custom DeNiro tall boot wearers.
The seasons changed, we moved to our own acreage, and still I pulled on my reliable boots every day. Truth be told, they had stopped offering a functional level of protection months earlier. I started to come to terms with this when I stabbed my foot with a stick that snuck in through the sole. The clincher, though, was when my horse Honi, jumped on the other foot and refused to move. On the plus side, hurrah for boots that were already stretched wide enough to accommodate days of persistent swelling!
There was no obvious romantic reason I was attached to these boots, although they had definitely accompanied me on some wonderful rides. I wore them for my first ever ride on a freshly started Honi, and I sported a more polished version of them when I received my personal best dressage mark. These would be fair reasons to hold onto a pair of boots if I was the sentimental kind.
Sadly, I figure I’m more the tight-ass kind. I’m predominately a stay-at-home parent and equestrian gear isn’t exactly the cheapest sports equipment. I’ll admit, that when it came to handing over the $250 recently for my replacement boots, I felt physically sick at the purchase.
Afterwards, I sat shakily in my car, keys in the ignition, the box containing my brand new boots in the passenger seat. I sent a guilty text message to my husband:
Just bought new riding boots. Promise I will pay for them from my work.
Don’t be silly. Promise to use them for riding.
I could feel myself choking up at all that was unsaid in this exchange. And finally I acknowledged the real reason I had clung to my faithful old boots when they were less than serviceable.
I had just bought gorgeous, technically designed boots for riding horses. But, was I really a horse rider when there were days when I was too overwhelmed with anxiety to ride my horse?
So, I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what it means to be a rider. And by that I mean that I’ve retreated inwards. I’ve been temporarily shrouded by insecurities threatening to steal my joy.
We all get disappointed when we don’t quite reach the goals we’ve set ourselves, or when the person we eyeball in the mirror isn’t a match to how you feel inside. I have let this disappointment sit with me this week until my heart couldn’t stand it any longer and pushed past the crowded mess of my mind.
This morning I pulled the new boots on, mentally thanked myself for the extra $10 I begrudgingly spent on waterproofing, and became the rider I am right now. The horse-crazy bundle of nerves that won’t accept no for an answer.
Because riding can – but doesn’t have to be – about how fast you gallop or how high you jump. Riding is a sport of the soul, and its measurement is surely in the amount of joy it brings to your heart.
In my heart I am, and will always be a rider. Boots, or no boots.
Source: http://confidentrider.online/ By Jade Salpietro